


Things are getting weirder now

by Ephemera_pop (Alex_Draven)



Category: Popslash
Genre: Animal Transformation, Dogs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-14
Updated: 2008-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-17 20:21:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10601511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alex_Draven/pseuds/Ephemera_pop
Summary: "You're naked." He blurted out, and, pressed against his own, Nick's chest expanded with a chuckle."You noticed, huh? Sorry about the recliner, by the way.""Huh?""Side effect –changing species seems to be an exothermic reaction. Good job the pool was close."Again. Huh? He looked like Nick, he felt like Nick, but … exothermic?"The dog, earlier? That was me, man," Nick continued, like that helped."You were the dog? Right. Obviously. Exothermic?"





	

**Author's Note:**

> p>It's technically the 14th April, at least in my time zone, and who knows if I'll get online tomorrow, so here's my, slightly cracked, contribution for Awesome April, with thanks to [](http://turps33.livejournal.com/profile)[**turps33**](http://turps33.livejournal.com/) , [](http://ephemera-pop.livejournal.com/59627.html#)[**pesnest**](http://ephemera-pop.livejournal.com/59627.html#) and [](http://puszysty.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://puszysty.livejournal.com/)**puszysty** for last minute beta-action. All remaining mistakes are my own fault.  
>   
> 

Howie hung up, and listened to the dull buzz of the dial tone for a long moment before he finally fumbled the handset back into its cradle. He flexed his empty hand.

No one had been hurt.

Lots of words and phrases the accident investigator had used were looping over and over in his mind, but 'no injuries' was the one he was clinging to. The one that meant that, maybe, he'd be able to find some way of making sense of this. Attempted arson. Again. Nick's place, this time, but no one was hurt, and...

Howie grabbed the phone and dialed Nick. No answer. Nick's cell rang out, until the automated voice cut in to tell him that the person he as calling was not available. He hit the redial button with controlled force, and as the distant tinny sound of Nick not answering filled his ear, his feet carried him over to the floor to ceiling windows.

It was incongruously beautiful. A perfect picture of manicured lawn, wooden deck furniture and gleaming azure water crisp against the white stone edge of his pool. Hardly a cloud in the sky, which was just starting to color a delicate peach, and not three miles away, someone had tried to set fire to Nick's apartment, just like they had Nick's boat at the Marina, and… And no one was hurt, Howie insisted to himself.

The pleasantly neutral woman's voice interrupted his thought processes, and Howie tucked the phone under his elbow and used both hands to unlock the doors and slide them open, stepping out, squinting against the bright, angled sunlight, before he tried for the third time.

The stone was warm under his feet, and when Nick still didn't answer, Howie dropped the handset onto one of the loungers. If Nick didn't quite routinely leave his cell switched off, Howie would be starting to worry. As it was, he was just at a loss for how to proceed. Cassey was calling him, off record, and strictly as a favor, and he owed it to her to keep her information in confidence, at least until he'd spoken to Nick, and could claim to have heard the news from a more official source. The knowledge was wrapped around him like a bubble, though, and everything still felt like a film set.

Howie shook himself.

Fanciful, he scolded himself, and then grabbed on to the first rational action that crossed his mind.

Stripping down to his boxer-briefs, Howie bounced on the balls of his feet only once before diving in a clean, clear line into his pool, pulling away with sure strokes, going straight in to lengths. His trainer would be proud of him. The activity would sluice the adrenaline out of his system, and the mantra-like focus of stroke-stroke-breathe would settle his mind.

His first flip-turn was ragged and washed his mouth with sun-warmed chlorine, making his sinuses burn. He scraped the top of his toe on the side as he kicked irritably out of that turn, but by the tenth, the twelfth, they were as fluid as his strokes, and he could settle into his body, not needing conscious thought at all, until the heat and drag of the tiring muscles in his shoulders began to impinge.

Howie added a twist to his next turn, and stretched into a lazy back crawl as a cool down, eyes screwed closed, the setting sun dancing black-spots under his eyelids. Habit told him where the edge of the pool would be, and he closed the final inches, fluttering his feet, both arms reaching up ahead of him. When his fingers brushed stone Howie rolled, ducked under water, and then came up with a deep breath, feet underneath him, toes pressed into the lines between the tiles, and both hands pushing the water and hair out of his eyes before he opened them.

When the dog licked his face, Howie screamed and threw himself back into the deeper water.

He managed to rein in his panic enough to turn around, treading water in the center of the pool, and - yes. A large golden retriever, tail waving gently, long red tongue dangling goofily as it panted, right there on his pool side.

Howie did not have a golden retriever.

Howie lived in a gated community that did not permit large dogs.

Howie was pretty freaked out by the dog's sudden arrival, let alone the fact that it had licked him.

Holding his breath, Howie ducked his face under water again. The dog was still there when he looked up again.

Howie kept treading water, trying to work out what his next move could be. For all he knew the damn thing had rabies. He turned ninety degrees, straining his neck to try and get a clear view of the lounger where he'd left his cell phone. He took a couple of leisurely stokes towards that side of the pool, but the clatter of claws on stone alerted him that the dog was heading him off at the pass, and, yes, there was the dog, trotting neatly around the pool edge.

"Crap," Howie cursed out loud.

The dog stopped, and sat by the edge of the pool, right between Howie and his phone.

Howie went back to treading water. The dog didn't _look_ crazy. Or sick. It looked like a gleaming example of a slightly spoiled pedigree pup, but if it wasn't a stray then he wouldn't be here, loose, on Howie's property...

The dog yawned, and settled down, hind legs splayed to the left, towards the house, front paws dangling over the edge of the pool. A rogue wave lapped at the stone and splashed it, and the dog whined, dropping his head to lick at the damp paw. The next ripple hit it in the nose, making it snort and shake its head, and despite the situation, Howie couldn't keep from smiling. The pup just looked so affronted.  
Apparently it didn't like being laughed at either, because it clambered back on to all four feet, and was pacing next to the pool, staring over the side and snapping at the moving water. Snapping in a way that was more cute than crazy, but still - red-red tongue and white-white teeth against the black skin of its lips, Howie couldn't help but notice.

He started to add a little, tiny, bit of backstroke to his treading water, inching away, and this time the dog seemed more concerned with the way his motions made the water move against the pool edge than about Howie himself, so he was almost a the opposite corner before the pup looked up, and let out a startled yelp before launching himself into the pool in pursuit. Howie yelped too, and scrambled the rest of the way to the edge and up and out, sprinting for the doors. He was breathing hard as he slid them shut, watching all the while as the drenched dog scrambled at the edge of the pool, apparently unable to get a good enough grip to get out. Thank heaven!

Howie grabbed a couple of towels from the guest bedroom on the first floor, and came back to the living room to dry off. The dog was paddling furiously towards the far end of the pool, where it curved into steps up to the hot tub. He was squeezing the water out of his hair, but he found himself stopping to watch the pup's progress. It's not like he wanted a dead dog in his pool, even if it was rabid. He thought about hydrophobia in the context of the dog's behavior for a second, and then smiled, because the dog had made it out of the pool, and was shaking itself off in a blur of dark-blond fur, the water droplets shining in the dying light.

And then the house phone rang.

Howie made his excuses, and tried to call the Animal Control line three seperate times, but it stayed busy so in the end he called his sister back and talked for a while, catching up. Their conversation sparked of some new ideas, so after they hung up, he went into his office and fired off a round of emails, and by the time he'd replied to everything that needed to be replied to it was after ten.

He pottered about in the kitchen, assembling jasmine tea and wondering if he was hungry enough to be worth cooking. He was standing in the pantry wondering if granola or the kashi stuff would be a better bet for supper, when a noise from the garden caught his attention.

Specifically, a yell from the garden.

He dropped the boxes, and pressed his face against the window, trying to see through the reflection into the night.

The fire on his deck was pretty easy to make out.

It was about the size of a BBQ that had gotten out of hand, except his BBQ wasn't by the pool so that must be... Cursing, Howie fumbled the lock, determined to get out there and turn a hosepipe on his deck recliner before anything else went up.

Between the dark and the adrenaline he didn't register anything else until the flames were gone, and he could close his eyes and pant in the bitter smell of wet ashes, and thank heaven that it hadn't been his _house_. This whole arson thing was getting scary.

"Hey, good reactions."

Howie froze. He was out in the yard, in the dark, moments after an arson attempt, and he didn't think his cell would have survived the bonfire.

"Howie?" The voice didn't sound threatening, but when it was followed up by something touching his shoulder, instinct took over, and he turned, already throwing a punch and an inarticulate shout tearing at his throat.

"Howie! Dude – it's me"

A broad wet hand caught his arm, twisting it away so the punch didn't connect, and in the light spilling out from the house, Howie finally registered who his assailant was.

"Nick?. Jesus, Nick. What are you …" "Shh, Howie, it's me. It's Nick. Chill, dude, chill." They babbled over each other, and somehow their awkward position turned into a hug, and it was only then that Howie registered that Nick was a) wet and b) naked.

"You're naked." He blurted out, and, pressed against his own, Nick's chest expanded with a chuckle.

"You noticed, huh? Sorry about the recliner, by the way."

"Huh?"

"Side effect –changing species seems to be an exothermic reaction. Good job the pool was close."

Again. Huh? He looked like Nick, he felt like Nick, but … exothermic?

"The dog, earlier? That was me, man," Nick continued, like that helped.

"You were the dog? Right. Obviously. Exothermic?"

Obviously Nick was on something, seeing as he didn't smell of alcohol. Nick punched him gently on the shoulder.

"No shit, man. Whole lot of heat going on. But, yeah, don't ask me why, 'cos I have no clue here, but I was opening my mail, earlier, and then _poof_ , four legs, tail, pile of burning clothes… I figured maybe someone would be able to figure it out, and you were closest, so…" Nick shrugged, and then moved away from Howie a little. "Also, getting kind of cold here, can we go in?"

Howie nodded helplessly, and carefully removed his hand from Nick's naked lower back. The view of Nick confidently striding towards the house, silhouetted against the kitchen lights was certainly – something.

Howie shook his head and followed Nick in.

Fortunately Nick tended to leave his belongings strewn around any place he visited regularly, so was able to piece together an odd looking outfit composed of a pair of garish swim shorts, flip flops, and a white zip-up hoodie. The rough towel drying had left his hair in messy spikes, and the white top made his tanned skin almost glow.

"You got any food in, dawg? I'm starving?" Nick asked, already reaching into Howie's drinks refrigerator for a bottle of water.

"Um - not much - I can order pizza?"

"Sounds good to me," Nick agreed happily, pulling Howie into a rough one armed hug.

Howie was still processing. This looked like Nick, acted like Nick, but - people didn't turn into dogs, and Nick didn't use words like exothermic correctly. Nick had had to ask what incomplete meant! But on the other hand …

"So," Howie said slowly, following Nick into the den. "You're saying the fire at your apartment wasn't arson?"

"Why would it be arson? You gonna call the place that does the Tex-Mex Double-Meat?"

"So long as you plan on eating that on your own, but - Nick - seriously, I was freaking out, I got a friend of mine to put me in touch with the accident investigator, the works. There's a deck fire on your boat one night, your apartment goes up in flames in the early hours of the morning, and you just vanish? I was worried sick!"

Nick looked up, face suddenly serious. "Fuck, man, I had no idea. I mean, the deck fire was nothing - I had it out in five minutes. I didn't think anyone had even noticed it, and my apartment… Shit. I should phone the others, huh?"

"Yeah," Howie said, with a sigh. "Although, I might not have exactly told them that you were missing? Or, um, about the fires."

Nick tilted his head and screwed up his forehead. "You are one weird guys sometimes, Mister Howie D, you know that?!

"I didn't want them to worry!" Howie protested.

"So you freaked out on your own all day? And you think I'm the dumb one?"

"I never said that you're dumb." Howie said, feeling uncomfortably like the conversation was drifting even further out of his control, as Nick stuck his tongue out.

"You were too thinking it. Hell - I know I'm not the smart one, but even I knew to go to my friends for help, and I was a fucking dog, Howie." Nick reached out with one long arm, and pulled Howie down onto the couch, wrapping Howie up in a smothering embrace. "I'm okay," he repeated over and over until Howie gave in and relaxed against his chest.

"Okay," Howie said after a while, still speaking into Nick's hoodie, because it was easier than fighting free of Nick's hug, and also easier than meeting Nick's eyes. "So how come you know it's an exothermic thingumy."

"Because shit keeps bursting into flames when it happens?" Nick said, like that was obvious, which, in fairness, it was.

"I meant more, how come you know the word? It's not the most obvious thing to say, Nicky."

"Oh!" Nick said, "I was talking to Lance, and how some of the technology the space program develops relates to race boats - rockets and stuff. Dude - I turned into a _dog_ and you're worrying about my vocabulary?"

"I have no clue what to do about the dog thing," Howie said, very quietly. The dog thing bothered him. It shouldn't be possible. Howie squirmed free of Nick's arm and pushed himself upright. "Do you have any idea what's going on with the dog thing?"

"Well, I think it's a dusk and dawn thing. I mean - I'm working from a sample of three here, but - last night I woke up me on the boat, and today by your pool - that was sunset, right? And this morning I'm guessing was dawn. So, dog by day, me by night?"

"And you've set things on fire every time?" Howie asked, just to be sure.

Nick nodded. Howie made a mental note to make sure that Nick didn't fall asleep on the couch.

"Okay. So - what do you remember before you woke up on the boat?

"Not much - I mean - hang on. What day is it today?"

Howie did a quick mental check. "Monday."

"So that means, I spent Monday-day as a dog, and it was Sunday night I woke up on the boat, which means … shit." Nick scrubbed a hand over his face and tugged at his own hair.

"Which means?" Howie prompted.

"I've, like, lost a day. I don't remember Sunday. I mean, I had a few drinks when I went out Saturday night, but … Oh. Oh, shit. No fucking way!"

"Nick?" Howie asked, fearing the worst.

"I may, possibly, have tried to hit on goth chicks?" Nick admitted, like a six year old admitting that they'd eaten all the candy.

"Nickolas Gene Carter! Did you learn _nothing_ from the whole AJ-penguin thing? Or the time Kevin got turned into a koala?"

"I was dri - well, I wasn't _drunk_ drunk. And they were really hot, with, like, these hu…"

Howie grabbed Nick's hand as Nick went to represent the girl's chest-sizes with his hands. The last thing Howie wanted at that moment was another reminder of Nick's relentless heterosexuality.

"You hit on a goth chick, and now you're a part time puppy. Personally, I think there could be a connection." Howie said with the heavy sarcasm of one who has had to clean up after animal-transformed band mates before. "You've gotta find the girl you hit on and apologize.

Nick sighed. "Shit. You know I hate the whole morning after thing, especially when I'm the one who did the dumb shit," he whined. "And I kind of hit on, like, three of them."

"You hit on three different goth chicks?"

"At the same time." Nick's voice suggested that he'd only realized how that didn't make things better as he was saying it. "Shit."

"I think I know why they turned you into a dog," Howie observed. He needed to remember this. Every time he crushed on Nick, let his idea of his band mate get all rose-tinted, spending time with the guy always helped get things back into perspective. Nick _was_ a dog. He was full of enthusiasm and energy and trouble and sunshine, like a puppy, but at the same time - he was kind of a womanizing hound-dog, emphasis on the women… "So, where do we go to find goth chicks on a school night?" Howie asked, resigned to his part in the process.

"I don't know - they were hanging out at Pop City, which isn't really prime freak-zone, so - who knows? Maybe the Castle?"

"Okay - so lets head down to the Castle and start from there."

"I knew you'd come up with a plan," Nicky said with a grin, giving Howie another enthusiastic hug before bouncing to his feet. "Hey - can we stop for food on the way, and, um - I kinda need to go back to my place and change."

Howie let himself be hauled up out of couch, but he drew the line at Nick following him into his walk in wardrobe while he changed into something that would blend in better. No one was going to mistake him for a punk fan, but at least he wouldn't be wearing pink.

Nick was somewhere out in Howie's bedroom, no doubt fiddling with stuff he had no business with, and carrying out a one-side conversation with Howie through the closed door.

Howie did his best to tune Nick out, as he stared at himself in the full-length mirror and made himself swear that no amount of Nick in eyeliner was going to make him forget just why it was Nick was in this situation. Even if Nick _had_ come to him instead of Brian or Kevin, it didn't _mean_ anything, Howie told himself.

Resolve strengthened, Howie let himself out - prompting Nick to guiltily slam one of Howie's bedside drawers shut - and calmly led the way to the parking garage.

He didn't normally let people eat in his cars, but he figured he could use the reminder of why Nick was annoying and not, in any way, attractive, so they went through the drive-thru window on their way to Nick's place and Howie let Nick buy him a Pepsi, although he turned down the offer of a double cheese burger. Just the smell was enough to turn his stomach.

Still, that was an effective distraction, and Howie concentrated on getting them across town to Nick's apartment, where Howie opted to stay in the car, sipping on his soda, while Nick spoke to the complex's manager to gain access to his own apartment.

Howie had been half expecting to find Nick's doorway draped in police incident tape, but as they approached, apart from a slightly smoky smell, there was no external evidence of the fire, just a small silver envelope taped to the door.

Nick was concentrating on matching keys to new locks, so Howie leant over his bent back to snag the envelope. Instead of the official typeface Howie might have expected from a florist, or the in-house maintenance team, the envelope was addressed to NGC in a rounded, flourishing, teen-like handwriting.

Howie slid the card out of the envelope. The card was a picture of three cartoon witches.

"Um - Nick?" Howie said, just as Nick said 'yes!' and the door gave way in front of him.

Inside the hallway, the apartment crew had done a good job of cleaning up, but the damage was evident on the scorched hardwood floor, the smell of smoke overlaid with the sharp smell of fresh paint. The bits and pieces that normally graced Nick's side table were now in a plastic crate on the breakfast bar in the kitchen, along with a note that the contents of the coat cupboard had been taken for dry cleaning.  
  
"Hey, Nick," Howie said again, before Nick could vanish to change. "You should read this."

"Read what?" Nick asked, turning, and Howie waved the card before passing it over.

"It was on the door."

Nick blanched when he saw the picture, and his fingers were clumsy as he opened it, scanning its contents quickly.

Howie came closer, leaning into Nick's body to read over his arm.

Do what you will, so long as it harms none  
Let the punishment fit the crime: three days a dog for three ladies insulted.  
(If you haven't figured it out, we cast a spell on you.) 

The note was signed S, S, and T, with three incongruous kisses underneath.

Howie blew out a long breath. At least now they knew what was really going on, and when it was going to end.

"Three days, huh?" he said.

Nick was still frowning at the card. "I didn't insult them!" he protested. "I just thought they were hot."

"Uh huh," Howie said, dryly. "Well, I'm guessing they took offence." Nick gave Howie a hurt glare. "Look on the bright side, Nicky, at least it's only for three days. AJ was stuck for _weeks_."

"I guess," Nick admitted, grudgingly. "But he didn't set fire to himself twice a day."

"Yeah - about that. What are you going to do?"

Nick dropped the witch card on the counter, and rubbed one hand around the back of his neck. He looked tired, and younger than he should. Then he turned to Howie with wide, hopeful eyes.

"Howie, my main man - can I stay with you? I don't wanna be on my own."

Howie took a long deep breath. It was going to be a long couple of days, he just knew it. A saner man would say no, but …

"Sure, -" Nick's smile was worth a thousand burnt recliners, and his warm, engulfing embrace, a hundred disrupted nights. "What else are friends for?"


End file.
